


Part of Your World

by orphan_account



Category: South Park
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-01
Updated: 2013-01-01
Packaged: 2017-11-23 05:56:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,478
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/618846
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Cartman has incontrovertible proof of something amazing. Despite many testimonials to the contrary, Kyle remains skeptical.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Part of Your World

**Author's Note:**

  * For [thekingofpucas](https://archiveofourown.org/users/thekingofpucas/gifts).



> Written for TheKingofCretins for the [2012 South Park Secret Santa](http://spsecretsanta.livejournal.com/) \-- I hope you enjoy. Happy New Year!

Kyle could kick Cartman's ass – and, deep down, Cartman knew it. 

That didn't mean he had to acknowledge it, though. Or allow this knowledge to alter his behavior in any way, shape, or form. After all, just because Kyle probably could kick Cartman's ass, that didn't mean he actually would.

Kyle was too refined. Too gentlemanly. Too haughtily convinced of his ability to solve everything with his superior intellect to resort to violence.

So naturally it came as somewhat of a surprise when, after a completely innocuous and entirely truthful statement regarding the intellectual capacity of Kyle's mother, Cartman found himself flat on his back in front of the school parking lot, Kyle's forearm braced across his chest to hold him down.

They had been killing time at the end of health class, the last period of the last day before the start of Christmas break. Their teacher appeared to have checked out for the afternoon, eyes unfocused but pointed in the general direction of the pile of mostly ungraded sexually transmitted disease quizzes that sat on his desk.

Cartman harbored a secret and terrific love for health class. It was one of the rare instances where the normal rules of the high school caste system were set aside, advanced placement and remedial students alike sitting side by side in a classroom for forty-five stultifying minutes a day, every day, for an entire marking period. Not even the teacher cared about the material. From what Cartman could gather the guy was just taking up space in front of the classroom, wistfully fingering the whistle he still insisted on wearing around his neck and counting down the days until health class ended and gym class could resume.

What this effectively meant for Cartman was that not only was he granted, thanks to the wonderful modern convention of seating by alphabetical order, the most tactically advantageous seat from which to irritate Kyle, but he also had access to a classroom full of Park County's most academically underwhelming high school seniors from which to amass support.

"Wow, maybe there really _are_ mermaids living in Stark's Pond," Clyde said thoughtfully.

Cartman bestowed upon him a beneficent smile. "There's no maybe about it, Clyde." He leaned across the aisle in a conspiratory pantomime to add, "I have it from the utmost authority on mermichthyology. There is incontrovertible _proof_ that they're in there, Clyde. They're in there, all right."

Without even looking Cartman could feel Kyle's entire body twisting with irritation. His shoulders grew more and more hunched before he finally reached critical mass, whirling around to hiss, "That's not even a real _word_ , let alone field. You're being ridiculous."

Cartman arched his eyebrows at him mildly. "Oh am I, Kyle? Am I really?” He gestured expansively around the classroom, indicating the faces of fifteen or so of their dullest classmates, all turned toward him expectantly. "Our esteemed peers here don't seem to think so." He turned to face Clyde directly. "You don't think the highly rigorous and scientific field of mermaidentology is ridiculous, do you Clyde?"

Clyde frowned, on the spot and uncomfortable. "Uh. No?" he hazarded.

Kyle threw his arms out in exasperation before fixing Cartman with a furious glare, the angle of his eyebrows arranged to perfectly convey without words the truly magnificent depths of his supreme annoyance. "You can't even keep the name straight of your stupid, made up science."

"Hey," Cartman said, genuinely angry now. "Don't you tell me how to pronounce it. You never even heard of it before today."

"Because it didn't even exist until you made it up just now!" Kyle shouted.

Kyle's shouting was enough to finally rouse their teacher from his chlamydia-related stupor. "Hey, pipe down," he admonished, but his heart wasn't in it. He glanced at the clock over the door then stood up looking relieved. "Okay, kids, have a safe and happy holiday. I expect to see you all back in your uniforms and ready to participate when we come back next year.” A wistful look came over his face. “We'll be starting our unit on kickball next marking period.”

“All right,” Clyde said. Cartman almost laughed before he realized Clyde was being completely sincere.

Students started congregating at the front of the classroom, ready to run out the door as soon as the bell rang. Cartman had been packed and ready to go for the last fifteen minutes, but he sat and waited patiently with his backpack in his lap for Kyle to finish putting away his quiz-taking pencils – one to actually take the quiz with, and a second one for backup just in case some sort of pencil-related tragedy should strike the first one – so that he could follow him out of the classroom.

Cartman hovered obnoxiously while Kyle was at his locker, amazed once again by how little effort it took to keep Kyle wound up once he'd gotten him going. This lead naturally to speculation of a purely scientific nature as to how long Kyle might hypothetically be kept held down, hard and gasping for it, with only the slightest touch of Cartman's fingers trailing up and down his length.

Cartman's train of thought was interrupted by Kyle slamming his locker door shut as punctuation to some point that Cartman hadn't actually heard. Cartman frowned as he hustled off after him to the spot just outside the main entrance where the four of them always met up. Kyle was acting more ungrateful than usual, considering Cartman was his ride home.

Stan and Kenny were already outside waiting. Cartman came through the door a few steps behind Kyle and stopped next to him, panting slightly. He turned to Kyle and said with a note of petulance in his voice, "I don't see why you can't just accept the possibility that something greater than all of us might be hiding within our midst."

Kyle ran his fingers through his hair in aggravation. "Because it's _stupid_ , that's why!" he responded.

Cartman's hands were balled into fists at his sides, an involuntary response to being called stupid. "Yeah, well, your mom is stupid," he shot back, aware of Kyle's escalating anger but still unprepared for Kyle to launch himself at him.

Cartman later blamed the element of surprise for how easily Kyle was able to knock him to the ground. Cartman flinched, tailbone aching, fully expecting Kyle to start hitting him. Instead Kyle just gripped him hard by the shoulders, thumbs digging painfully into the tender flesh below the bones there, shaking him for emphasis as he shouted at Cartman, “Don't you talk about my mother, god damn it.”

The way Kyle was half sitting on his hips to keep him pinned was really distracting. Cartman shifted his hips slightly, trying to gain some leverage, but Kyle just tightened the clamp of his knees and pressed Cartman's shoulders all the harder into the concrete. Cartman bit back an embarrassing sound then whined, “I'll talk about whatever I want.” He pressed his left hand against Kyle's hip bone, shoving feebly. “You can't stop me.”

Stan cleared his throat awkwardly. Kenny shuffled his feet. Kyle blinked and looked around, suddenly embarrassed. His death grip on Cartman's shoulders loosened significantly. Cartman's heart sank.

Despite the inherent humiliation involved in being pinned to the ground by Kyle in front of all of their mutual friends and acquaintances, Cartman really didn't want him to get up. Mostly because the way Kyle knelt with his thighs bracketing Cartman's hips, ass just grazing the tops of Cartman's thighs, was doing a really great job of hiding Cartman's boner.

“Wait,” Cartman blurted, then immediately regretted it.

Kyle looked at him, alarmed, and snatched his hands back off of his shoulders. “What?” he asked when Cartman didn't continue.

Cartman felt himself starting to panic. He could see Kenny smirking at him out of the corner of his eye. "You, uh," he said. He narrowed his eyes at Kyle. “You fight like a girl,” he finished meanly.

Kyle emitted a sound of disgust as he rolled off of Cartman and stalked off toward the school buses, seemingly disgusted with Cartman and everything he stood for.

Stan took one last long, wistful look over towards where Cartman's car was parked before jogging off after Kyle.

Kenny peered down at Cartman, curled on his side on the concrete. "Does this mean I get shotgun?" he asked.

"Shut the fuck up, Kenny," he said as he scrabbled back up to a standing position. "I fucking hate you."

Kenny shrugged and followed him to his car. "Shotgun," he called anyway, just to be sure.

Moved in some special way by the holiday spirit, Cartman refused to unlock his passenger side door. Kenny fumed silently from the backseat as Cartman took the long way home.

Kenny had his seatbelt off and his backpack over his shoulder as soon as Cartman pulled up to the curb in front of his house. "Merry Christmas, asshole," Kenny called over his shoulder as he got out of the car and slammed the door.

Cartman grunted and drove off, just barely avoiding splashing Kenny's legs with wet slush when he swerved, not entirely accidentally, through the gutter.

As he pulled into his own driveway, the corners of his mouth turned up slightly in spite of his foul mood.

Christmas break had officially begun.

_____________

Under ordinary circumstances Cartman wouldn't have let it bother him. In fact, he had almost pushed the whole awkward situation out of his mind by the time he got home.

Unfortunately he was informed as soon as he got there that they would be driving out to Nebraska to spend Christmas eve with his horrible extended family.

"Oh, isn't it just wonderful, hon?" his mother asked him as they tossed their bags in the trunk of her car. "I can't believe your uncle Howard actually won his appeal."

“Hmm," Cartman grunted.

"Gosh, I haven't seen him in, oh my, how long has it been?" she wondered happily as she unlocked the car doors.

"Seven years," Cartman replied flatly and sat down in the passenger seat.

“Seven years,” she repeated softly and started up the car.

Cartman glared out he window at the scenery, the colorful lights of families' holiday decorations slowly giving way to empty stretches of highway. His mother hummed softly along with the radio while he stared at the darkened sky and tried not to think about Kyle.

It was after midnight by the time they arrived at his grandmother's. His mother let them into the house quietly with her key.

"Grandma said you boys would be sleeping in my old bedroom, right over here," she said, opening the door softly.

"Wait, what?” Cartman hissed. "What boys?"

"Goodnight, hon," she said and gave him a kiss on the cheek. "I'll be on the sofa. See you in the morning." She promptly fled back down the hallway toward the living room.

Cartman stepped into the room. There was one twin sized bed inside. He groaned.

The boy lying underneath the covers sat up, squinting at him in the dark. "Oh, hi, Eric," he said.

"Elvin," Cartman responded, giving him a withering stare that he probably couldn't even see with his glasses on the bedside table.

Elvin scooted to the side of the bed, holding up the corner of the comforter. "You wanna get in?" he asked.

Cartman walked over to the bed. "Nope," he replied, grabbing a pillow and a comforter, then dragging them over to the opposite corner of the room to build himself a cocoon.

"Oh, okay," his cousin mumbled, trying to get comfortable on the bed with just a sheet. "Well, good night."

Cartman grunted back, too tired to insult him.

He awoke early the next morning, tired and cranky and sore. Elvin was sitting up in bed already, staring at him.

"What," Cartman snapped.

“Good morning," Elvin said.

"Good morning," Cartman replied, hesitant.

"Do you, uh," Elvin said, staring pointedly at Cartman's morning erection, "did you want me to help you with that?"

" _What? No_ ," Cartman hissed. "We're not fucking nine years old, you fucking freak, you can't just go around touching your cousins' wieners, Jesus Christ.”

Elvin frowned and shrugged. "Okay," he said.

"I mean, Jesus. What the fuck?" Cartman continued.

"It's just that last year–" he tried to elaborate.

"We're not talking about last year, for fuck's sake, Elvin, shut the fuck up." Cartman stood up and threw his blanket and pillow back onto the bed.

"I was just trying to be friendly," Elvin said sadly as Cartman grabbed his bag and ran out of the room.

Most of his extended family had already beat him to the bathroom, so Cartman was stuck taking a short lukewarm shower, too cold and miserable to bother even washing his hair. His grandma only kept decaf coffee in the house for Christ only knew what reason. They had frozen waffles and microwaved bacon for breakfast, eating off chipped Chinette plates in his grandmother's living room.

Cartman was tired and humiliated. Elvin kept shooting him looks that alternated between angry and pathetic. His uncle Howard had apparently developed some sort of complex about showering while in prison and now refused to bathe, which made sitting next to him even more unpleasant than he previously remembered.

He was tempted to storm out of there multiple times over the course of the morning. Sitting outside in the freezing cold in his mother's car for four hours had to be better than this, he figured. But then every so often he would catch a glimpse of his mother smiling at her brother in disbelief, eyes wet, and he would once again find the patience to stay hunched in one of his grandmother's armchairs silently fuming until it was time to leave.

He took advantage of the five hour car ride home to plot out a series of half-baked revenge schemes against Kyle for the day before.

What was that Jewish asshole's problem anyway? He acted so high and mighty, like it was his personal responsibility in life to publicly shout down any idea Cartman ever had.

Kyle acted like Cartman was just making up his mermaid information to get attention or something. Cartman scoffed, the puff of hot air causing a circle of fog to bloom briefly over his window.

Cartman decided that he would find a way to get Kyle to admit that Cartman had been right about the Stark's Pond mermaids, one way or another.

He flushed slightly and squirmed a bit in his seat. And if Kyle felt the need to defend his stupid position by getting into another wrestling match with Cartman, well then, so be it. Cartman would just have to face that particular challenge head on. For science.

___________

On Christmas morning Cartman awoke bright and early. He dragged his groggy mother out of bed and downstairs to open presents with him in the living room.

All thoughts of his current feud with Kyle fell by the wayside as soon as he unwrapped a brand new Playstation Vita.

“Oh, sweet!” he exclaimed gleefully, and set about tearing open the packaging with careless abandon. He spared the manual a brief moment of consideration as he flicked through it once like a flip book, then tossed it aside to pull out all the components.

He found the charger and plugged his device in to a nearby outlet, then cast about in his modestly sized present pile for the closest gift shaped like a game box and tore the wrapping paper off. He'd inserted the cartridge and was watching the title screen play out its little animation when, as an afterthought, he looked over at his mother.

Liane was seated on the sofa, hands crossed loosely in her lap, the slightly frayed cuffs of her old housecoat pushed up to reveal her delicate forearms. She smiled beatifically at him. "You like your gift, hon?"

"I – yeah, thanks," he said, suddenly embarrassed, and set his device down. He turned back to the tree and shoved aside the rest of his unopened gifts to pull out the two messily wrapped department store boxes he had placed there the night before. He stood and placed them on the couch next to his mother. "Right, well – here you go," he said, and promptly sat back down on the floor next to his Vita.

He watched silently as his mother unwrapped her presents, working her finger under all the taped edges to pull the paper off without tearing it. Her face lit up in surprise when she pulled out two new silk pajama sets and a matching robe. "Oh, Eric," she said. "They're lovely. I'm so happy."

He stared intently at the title screen of his game, cheeks pinking slightly. "Yeah, well," he grumbled. "Merry Christmas."

She folded them up again and placed them carefully back in their box before hoisting herself up off the couch. She ruffled Cartman's hair and gave him a kiss on the forehead, mumbling, "Thank you, Eric," into his hair.

He blinked hard and stared intensely at his video game. "You're welcome."

Liane picked up a trash bag and started gathering up the colorful holiday debris, reams of partially shredded paper and bits of cellophane spread out in a messy blast zone emanating from the space where Cartman sat.

He fell asleep on the couch early that night with his Vita still in his hands, the device's chirpy chiptune music mingling with the comforting sounds of his mother puttering around in the kitchen, gently lulling him to sleep.

__________

On the twenty-sixth, Cartman tried to tackle his Kyle problem with increased vigor. He decided that the best tactic to getting Kyle to admit that he was right would simply be to reason with him.

He walked over to Kyle's house a little after noon and knocked on the door. Unfortunately, it was Kyle who answered.

"What do you want, asshole?" Kyle asked him flatly from the doorway.

"Kyle!" Cartman said brightly. "My dear friend Kyle. Can I come in?" he asked.

"No," Kyle replied.

Cartman produced a forced laugh, and took a step closer. "Okay, yes, very funny, Kyle." Kyle wasn't moving. Cartman tried to side step his way through the doorway, but Kyle just braced his hands against the door frame and wouldn't move.

"Get lost, Cartman," Kyle said, sounding tired. "It's Boxing Day. You should go... do something festive."

"Boxing day?” Cartman frowned. "Is that some type of Jewish thing?" he asked.

Kyle groaned. "No, you idiot. It's Canadian or something. Now get _lost_ ," he said, punctuating his request with a shove. Cartman stumbled back against the railing, and Kyle took the opportunity to slam the door in his face.

Cartman frowned and walked back home to regroup. While working his way through a plate of leftovers, he had a brilliant thought.

"Hey, mom?" he called out.

"Yes, Poopsiekins?" she called back from the living room.

"Mom, it's some type of Canadian holiday today," he said. "I need a gift to bring the Broflovskis for their weird Canadian kid."

"Oh, dear," his mother said, walking into the kitchen. "What sort of a gift?" she asked.

Cartman looked around the kitchen. "Did I say gift? I meant dessert. I think it's customary to bring gifts of food and cookies or something."

"Oh," she said, sounding pleased. "Well, that's nice. Why don't you bring them over a plate of Christmas cookies?” she asked.

"Yeah, that's perfect," he said. "Good thinking, Mom."

She smiled blandly and grabbed an old tin from one of the kitchen cabinets. "How's this, hon?" she asked as she started filling it from the plate of her homemade cookies sitting out on the kitchen table.

"Thats great, yeah," he said. He finished his food and dropped his plate in the sink, then turned and took the cookie tin from his mother. "Thanks, Mom, see you later," he called out, then headed back over to the Broflovskis to try again.

This time he got lucky and Sheila Broflovski answered the door. "Oh, hello there, Eric, " she said pleasantly enough, though she seemed somewhat guarded.

Cartman turned on his most ingratiating smile. "Mrs. Broflovski," he said brightly. “I understand today is Boxing Day, a traditional Canadian holiday."

She blinked at him. "Oh, well," she said. "I suppose it is."

He thrust the tin at her. "These are from my mother and I. May I come in?"

She took the tin from his hands and moved back a step to allow him to come inside. "Well, certainly. Thank you, Eric,” she said, peering at him, not quite sure what to make of him. “That was very," she paused, searching for words, "culturally sensitive of you to bring us something."

"You're welcome," Cartman said, following her into the kitchen.

"Although I have to be honest with you," she continued. "We don't really celebrate Boxing Day."

Cartman frowned. "Wait, you don't?" he asked, but then lost the trail of inquiry when he caught sight of Kyle having an aneurysm at the kitchen table.

" _Mom_ ," Kyle shrieked. "What the hell is _he_ doing here?"

"Language, Kyle," Sheila scolded mildly. "Ms. Cartman sent us over some cookies to celebrate Boxing Day." She set the open tin down on the table in front of Kyle.

“Oh, _come on_ ,” he shouted. "You can't be serious."

Cartman stepped forward. "Oh, I'm very serious, Kyle. I've always tried to be respectful of your family's fascinating Jewish Canadian traditions –"

" _What_ ," Kyle interjected, standing up.

"– and even though I don't know all the ins and outs of what a traditional Jewish Canadian Boxing Day celebration involves, I had hoped that you and your family would receive this gift of traditional American Christmas cookies in the festive spirit in which it was intended."

Cartman felt a thrill of anticipatory glee at the sight of the righteous fury in Kyle's eyes as he moved closer, fists held taught at his sides, but before things could devolve any further that bitch Sheila Broflovski had to step in and put her hand on Kyle's shoulder, steering him out of the kitchen and over toward the living room stairs.

"Kyle, honey, I think your friend was just leaving. Why don't you go on upstairs and let your brother know that the Cartmans sent us over some cookies?”

"Yeah, well, they're probably poisoned," Kyle grumbled as he allowed himself to be herded away.

Mrs. Broflovski turned back to Cartman and said with a tight smile. "Like I said, Eric, that was very considerate of you and your mother." She patted him on the arm and continued, "I'd love to have a discussion with you about how we try to incorporate Ike's Canadian heritage into our family traditions some time, but unfortunately we have to leave soon to meet Kyle's father for dinner."

"Oh, you're going out tonight?" Cartman asked, angling for details.

"Yes, dear," she said, then added after a moment, "Not for Boxing Day, mind you, but just because it's been a long week and I don't feel like cooking."

Cartman found himself back on the Broflovskis' front stoop without quite knowing how he got there.

"See you later, Eric," she waved to him.

“Enjoy the cookies,” he grumbled as he turned and walked back to his house, thwarted again.

__________

On the twenty-seventh Cartman took the time to browse Google images and made sure to save only the most convincingly Photoshopped images of merpeople to post to Kyle's Facebook wall. To maximize the effect, he captioned each photo in all capitals, urgent missives like THEY'RE OUT THERE and BELIEVE to ensure that Kyle fully understood how serious this all was to him.

He waited all afternoon for the barrage of angry messages he was sure he'd be receiving from Kyle any minute now, but when his phone chirped with a new Facebook notification it was just Clyde expressing his enthusiastic support.

There was one blurry underwater image of what was evidently supposed to be a bare chested mermaid wielding some sort of underwater mer-spear in a threatening manner. The picture had seventeen likes, all from members of their health class, and one comment from Clyde.

_Clyde Donovan: wow you think theres anyone like her living in starks pond?_

Cartman groaned and shook his head.

_Eric Cartman: clyde i'm pretty sure she would stab you and then leave you to drown_

His phone chirped a few moments later with another Facebook notice.

_Clyde Donovan: yeah well it'd be worth it_

Cartman spared a brief moment of concern over Clyde's emotional well being before remembering that he didn't actually give a shit.

He waited all night for a response from Kyle, checking his Facebook periodically to be sure he hadn't missed it. He fell asleep in bed on top of his covers, phone on the pillow next to him, feeling like he was still waiting for his day to start.

_______________

The morning of the 28th, Cartman awoke with a sense of purpose. With a divine sense of righteousness and his comforter wrapped around his shoulders, he crawled out of bed and made his way over to where he'd left his laptop. After a small amount of research, he started placing some orders online, paying extra for the rush shipping.

He congratulated himself internally once he'd placed his final order. His best plan to date was falling into place.

_______________

On New Year's Eve, as everyone around him counted down the end of the year, Cartman found himself slouched angrily against the wall next to the old ugly love seat in the Marshes' basement. He had set up everything he'd needed to late that afternoon, doing a final test run to make sure everything was working smoothly before collecting his mother and walking over to Stan's house for his parents' New Year's party.

Everything had been going exactly according to plan, with the glaring exception that he was currently watching Bebe Stevens cozy on up to Kyle, supposedly under the pretense of having somebody to kiss at midnight.

The worst part was that Kyle hadn't even been interested until Cartman had sneered at her unsuccessful moves, which had mostly consisted of running her fingers over the back of Kyle's hand and asking, "C'mon, what do you say?" with increasing frequency as the clock crept closer to midnight.

"Give it a rest, Bebe," he'd said. "You sound more desperate than usual."

Bebe had just rolled her eyes and gone right back to what she was doing, but Kyle had apparently taken a page out of his mother's book that night and decided to get all offended on someone else's behalf.

"Excuse me?" he'd said, giving Cartman a withering glare that Cartman actually found kind of endearing. "Who the hell do you think you are, calling somebody desperate for trying to have a little fun with a holiday tradition?"

"Calm down, guys," Bebe had said, sounding uncomfortable. Cartman hoped she was regretting every decision she had ever made in life that had lead her to this point. "It's just a stupid tradition, it doesn't really mean anything."

Kyle turned back to her, looking determined. "No," he said. "No, I think it's important. And, and fun. And," his eyebrows creased a little with uncertainty as he hazarded a final guess, "good luck?"

Cartman snorted derisively but refrained from commenting. Bebe seemed pleased anyway, patting his hand and agreeing, "Yes, it's for good luck."

Cartman meant to look away as the two of them kissed, but his eyes slid right back toward them a moment later. Bebe's eyes were closed, but Kyle's were wide open and staring directly at him. His breath caught in his throat and he stood there, motionless, not sure what to do but stand there and wait for it to end.

By half past twelve the party was starting to wind down. Guests were starting to go through the motions of preparing to leave, although Kyle's father was halfway through his fourth beer, sitting in the kitchen talking animatedly with Stan's dad, and didn't look like he would be going anywhere soon.

Cartman realized this was probably his last chance of the night. It was time to lay it all on the line, here.

“Kyle,” he said, approaching him slowly with his arms at his sides.

“Cartman,” Kyle replied, eyebrows raised.

“Listen,” he said, the corners of his mouth pinched. “I know that I haven't always been the easiest person to get along with.”

Kyle's expression remained unchanged. “No, you haven't,” he said.

“Right,” Cartman continued. “No, I know. I know that. And I'm sorry.”

Kyle's eyebrows rose higher. “You're sorry?” he asked.

“ _Yes_ , god damn it, that's what I fucking just said – “ he paused and took a deep breath. “Okay, what I'm saying is, you and me, we have a lot of history together.”

“Okay,” Kyle said.

Cartman looked down for a moment, frowning, then turned his face back up to look Kyle dead in the eyes. “Kyle, listen, I respect you. I respect you a lot. Your opinion means a lot to me. And I just,” he glanced quickly around at their surroundings. “I just would really appreciate it if you could give me a chance here to show you something amazing.”

Kyle squeezed his eyes shut and groaned loudly before stomping over to basement stairs.

Cartman followed him up the stairs, calling after him, “Kyle, seriously. Don't ignore me, here.”

When they reached the main hallway of the ground floor Kyle turned around and gave Cartman one of the angriest dirty looks he'd treated him to so far this week, then stomped angrily over to the closet and grabbed his and Cartman's coats off the hangers.

Cartman took his coat from Kyle's hands and stared at it, momentarily dumbfounded. “Well?” Kyle asked him testily. “Are you showing me something or what?”

Cartman shook his head to clear it. “Of course. Let's go,” he said, confident again, and led Kyle out the back door and through several neighborhood shortcuts that they both knew by heart.

Kyle had almost certainly realized where they were going long before they'd left the house, but he still found it necessary to scoff derisively when they turned down the quiet path that lead to Stark's Pond.

"Kyle, please," Cartman said seriously. "I'm not asking you to believe the unbelievable, here. You don't have to concede anything you don't want to."

"Uh huh," Kyle said, unimpressed.

"Just, please," Cartman continued. "Please, just take one good look for yourself and I promise I will finally leave you alone about this."

Kyle blew out a frustrated sigh but walked reluctantly up to the edge of the water all the same, then let his face slacken in awe.

The whole body of water had an eerie glow like it was lit from within. Peering closer Kyle could see what appeared to be the bodies of eerie, vaguely human creatures swimming around hundreds of feet below the icy surface of a pond he didn't even realize was that deep. The illuminated shapes of strange circular buildings were visible along the floor of the pond, as the distant figures of the strange creatures swam in and out.

"See?" Cartman asked smugly. "What did I fucking tell you, Kyle, huh? What did I fucking tell you?"

Kyle shook his head slowly, at a loss. "Cartman, I –" he started, then floundered, no words big enough to express the enormity of what he was feeling right now. He slowly pulled his gaze away from the miraculous sight before him and took a faltering step toward Cartman.

He then promptly caught his foot on something hard buried in a snowdrift and fell on his face.

Cartman hustled toward him, face concerned and arms outstretched in a perfect pose of willing assistance. "Oh, no, Kyle! Are you all right?" He leaned down and tried to offer him a hand. "You poor thing, you're so clumsy sometimes."

Kyle scowled and shoved him away, rolling up onto his knees. "What the fuck was that?" he bit out, digging through the snowdrift with his gloved hands.

"What the fuck was what?" Cartman asked, and waited hopefully for a response. When none came he kept on talking. "I don't know, probably a rock or something. Come on, Kyle," he placed a hand on the underside of Kyle's arm, close to the armpit, and tried to pull him to a standing position. "Get out of the snow before you catch fucking pneumonia or something."

Cartman stumbled back a few steps when Kyle elbowed him in the gut, then watched with helpless dismay as Kyle's face lit up in satisfaction with whatever he had found hidden in the snow at the water's edge.

The underwater city suddenly shifted and distorted, then disappeared altogether as a beam of blue-green light arced up and over the snow, shifting crazily before coalescing into a warped image of a city inhabited by flying ghost fish that was projected onto the snow at Kyle's feet.

Kyle was turning an object over and over in his hands. "This is," he said slowly, shaking his head. "This is a projector."

Cartman stepped forward again cautiously, hands outstretched in the most nonthreatening pose he could manage at the moment, what with an angry Jew holding a piece of very expensive visual equipment over a very cold and moderately deep body of water.

"Now, Kyle," Cartman said, inching closer. "Let's not do anything rash, here."

"Anything rash?" Kyle repeated incredulously. "Who's doing anything rash, here?"

"Nobody, Kyle," Cartman nodded placatingly. "Nobody is, that's right."

"Oh, yeah, sure, nobody," Kyle agreed. Cartman couldn't help but notice that he didn't sound entirely sincere. Kyle shook the projector at Cartman, making the shapes at his feet expand and contract in a nauseating, patternless blur. "Nobody except _you_ , you fucking nutcase."

"Okay, Kyle, listen – I can explain," Cartman said.

Kyle laughed angrily. "Oh, and I'm sure you will."

Cartman cringed as Kyle dropped the projector back into the snow drift, which started glowing in shifting patterns of blue and green. He was close enough now to place a tentative hand on Kyle's forearm.

"Don't touch me," Kyle snapped and shoved him, hard, in the center of his chest. Cartman grabbed at Kyle as he lost his balance, pulling Kyle down with him as he fell.

Cartman had the advantage momentarily, rolling sideways to fling a leg over Kyle, hands fisted in his jacket front. "Don't tell me what to do," he yelled back. "I'll touch you if I fucking feel like it."

At this Kyle shut his eyes and choked out another burst of bitter laughter. "God," he said, mouth twisting sourly over the words. "You're such an _asshole_."

Cartman would have had a snappy comeback for that if Kyle hadn't chosen that moment to elbow him in the solar plexus. Cartman grunted in pain and surprise, and Kyle kicked off with his free leg, gaining enough leverage to roll himself over Cartman in a close approximation of the position they had just been in.

Kyle pressed his advantage, grabbing Cartman by the forearms and resting his weight on them. "Just what the hell were you hoping to get out of this, anyway?" he asked.

Cartman shook his head wordlessly up at him. Kyle made a noise of disgust and turned his face away, glaring at the glowing snow drift with the projector buried somewhere inside. He shifted his leg so that he was sitting across Cartman's thighs properly.

Cartman swallowed hard. "I just," he said. Kyle turned his head back to face Cartman. He looked simultaneously tired and expectant. "I just wanted to be right," Cartman finished feebly.

"What?" Kyle asked. "That's not – Cartman, that doesn't even make _sense_."

"Hey, I don't tell you how to live your life," Cartman said.

"Yeah, actually, you do," Kyle pointed out. "And, no, I mean – even if you'd managed to take me in with this ridiculous scheme," he let go of Cartman to gesture wildly here, the wide arc of his arms somehow supposed to encompass the ridiculousness of everything Cartman had accomplished this past week, "that still wouldn't have made you _right_."

Cartman shook his head at him, trying to make sense of Kyle's twisted logic. "What do you mean?" he asked. "I would have won the argument."

Kyle stared at him. “Cartman," he said. He sounded like he was trying very hard to be patient although he found the process physically painful. "Winning the argument doesn't necessarily make you right."

Cartman frowned at him dubiously. "I'm not quite sure I get where you're coming from here."

Kyle made a sound of insurmountable frustration and launched into an impassioned speech detailing everything that was wrong with Cartman as a human being in reverse chronological order based upon the times that Kyle came to realize his many and various faults.

The snow creeping down his collar and under the waistband of his pants where his coat was rucked up managed to eliminate the possibility of any inconvenient erections forming on Cartman's part. Still he did his best to catalog the feel of Kyle pressed against him, holding him down almost carelessly, effortless, his hips moving slightly on top of Cartman's with every impassioned gesture he used to articulate his furious speech.

Kyle trailed off looking betrayed. “Are you even listening to me?” he asked.

Cartman was staring at his mouth. "It'll be midnight in California," he blurted out.

Kyle's forehead creased in irritated confusion. "What?" he asked.

Cartman shifted his weight onto his elbows, gaining a little leverage but exposing his front. "I mean," he elaborated slowly, "I know how important these cultural good luck traditions are to you."

Kyle narrowed his eyes again, aware that Cartman was messing with him but not quite sure what his angle was this time.

"Wouldn't want you to have bad luck in the Pacific time zone or anything," he muttered and hoped that Kyle wouldn't hit him too hard after he finished lifting his face up the last couple of inches to press his lips softly against Kyle's, sighing faintly, letting his tongue tease out to touch Kyle's lips but not daring to press inside before pulling back to rest on his elbows again in the snow.

Kyle was giving him a strange look, but at least he didn't look angry for once. He looked – focused. Like he was just now solving some sort of puzzle.

“What?” Cartman asked peevishly.

Kyle blushed. “I think your clock is fast,” he said, which Cartman thought was probably the single dorkiest think he'd ever heard, but he didn't care. Because Kyle was leaning down to kiss him again, sighing softly into his mouth while the lights from Cartman's projector lit the snow around them in softly repeating patterns of blue and green.  



End file.
